


Bit of Luck and Gravity

by SecondHeartbeat (Epictry)



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Crack, Humor, M/M, Mpreg, lulz
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-05-26
Updated: 2012-02-23
Packaged: 2017-10-19 19:23:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/204366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Epictry/pseuds/SecondHeartbeat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ray isn't feeling quite like himself and Walt is naturally worried. There's the puking. There's the headaches. There's the lack of energy to banter. It's a Post-OIF world and this power couple is about to get domestic whether they like it or not. [Not Updated]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is pure crack and thusly it is not very well written, thought out and I will definitely regret this in the morning, kind of like Trombley's mom.

It is not quite dawn when Walt's slumber starts to fade from the haze of dreaming to awareness of reality. It's the kind of sleep where the room is warm because the sheets are cool and the body beside you is a radiator. Walt's sandy hair brushes against the 600 thread count pillowcase when he twists his head side to side, coming out of the fog. It begins to make more sense that his ears hear rustling beside him.

His brain starts to work so that he realizes he’s hearing. His mind tells him to come out of his sleep; that something is off. It's not urgent, but he's acutely aware of shifting and a moan - an unhappy moan becoming an uncomfortable groan.

"Ray?" Walt murmurs, fully rolling over onto his right side so he can drape his left arm around the human radiator next to him.

Ray's always been cold natured - wearing hoodies in Iraq during the day, wool socks taking up more room in the drawer than cotton, and never caught in a movie theater without some sort of jacket and pants that cover his legs completely. Lately, Walt's noticed that Ray is unreasonably warm - not feverish though. They've checked over and over - well, Walt's checked anyway.

Ray squirms beneath Walt's warm spooning and Walt responds by pulling up closer behind Ray, asserting his dominance as the big spoon.

"Oh," Ray groans, "I feel fucking sh-"

He stops short and Walt cracks open his left eye. Ray's never left a sentence hanging, absolutely not a sentence to be riddled with profanity. Walt cocks his head up and peers over Ray's shoulder. Ray elbows him suddenly and when Walt retracts his arm from around Ray the other man is out of the bed like a shot. The sheets fly back at Walt and he deflects them, setting up fully while Ray barrels out of the small bedroom into the hall. The bathroom door slams and Walt hears Ray's unbelievably loud growl and hack.

Walt pulls the sheet around his waist and rolls back over. He gets out of bed on his side and walks toward the bedroom door then into the hall. He hears another wet heave of Ray's loud vomiting and he makes a face.

"Ray?" he calls. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm great!" Ray calls back, sarcastically.

He hears him heave again and the plop and glug of more vomit. Ray flushes and groans loudly letting it fade into a sigh.

"Do you think it's a fever now?" Walt needles through the door.

"No, I really don't. I think going with Rudy to sushi was a shit idea though. No more brunch dates if that vegan buttfucker is the one planning them,"

Walt smirks, but inside he’s still concerned. It’s not the best sign to wake up and promptly throw up. Before he can say something either in agreement or to the contrary of banning Rudy from picking the locales of meeting for a meal, Ray gags and Walt hears another round begin.

“Shit Ray!” Walt curses taking a step to the bathroom door and closing his fist around the door handle.

“Ugh,” Ray groans, again, followed quickly with, “Shut up.”

Walt twists the door knob and opens the door carefully. Ray is on his knees in front of the toilet. There’s vomit on his chin and the toilet seat. Walt’s upper lip involuntarily curls in repulsion and he tries his best to make a straight face before Ray looks up and notices him. Ray looks up and catches the look and glares.

“I bet you look like a million fucking dollars when you hurl,” Ray complains.

“Sorry,” says Walt, sincere that he didn’t want to criticize with his expression.

“Asshole,” Ray continues.

“I said I was sorry,” Walt replies, already a hint of exasperation in his voice, mostly because this happens a lot when Ray won’t take a simple apology.

Ray opens his mouth, but shuts it and belches against his teeth and cheeks. His eyes go wide and he turns away from Walt and throws up again. Walt doesn’t move for a moment. He stands with his lips parted slightly in surprise and then opens the door wider and steps in. Ray lets out a relieved sigh, spits, and hocks and spits again. Walt kneels down next to Ray and pats his back.

“And I’m done,” Ray declares, taking another opportunity to spit into the bowl.

Walt doesn’t look down. He reaches for the lever and flushes the toilet for Ray. The smell is enough of an offense along with the sick left around Ray’s lips and the rim of the toilet seat. Ray just sighs and his shoulders drop like he’d been carrying a huge weight up until that moment. Walt offers him a sympathetic look and pats lightly where Ray’s neck meets his back. Ray grabs at the toilet paper roll and pulls off a wad, wiping his chin and lips, throwing the wad into the bowl. Walt pulls back from Ray and pulls off a length of toilet paper, folding it meticulously around the width of his hand and the in one sweeping motion cleans the rim of the toilet seat. He flushes again and offers Ray a hand.

“That was fucking weird,” Ray says.

Walt stands and pulls Ray up with him. Walt is about to say something about Ray needing to go lie down and how wants to make sure he’s not running a fever just to rule out the flu. Ray interrupts him, of course.

“I want breakfast,”

Walt pauses as Ray steps around him to the sink. Instead of challenging the urge to eat after the early morning purge session, Walt is content that at least Ray is going to rinse his mouth and brush his teeth. So Walt shakes his head and leaves Ray in the bathroom, rubbing a hand through his mussed hair on the way to the kitchen.

“No oatmeal either!” Ray calls out.


	2. Chapter 2

It’s been three days and Walt is plotting how to force Ray to the doctor’s office. Ray has managed to get sick every single day, multiple times. He claims it’s just the bacteria from whatever they ate at the more than reputable Sushi restaurant running its course. Walt doesn’t bother to challenge him the first day, but its 7:30 in the evening and Ray came home from work looking terrible, skipped dinner and still threw up.

“I’m not an idiot. Just because you turn on the water faucet to the sink doesn’t mean it drowns out you puking,” Walt tells Ray as soon as Ray appears in the living room.

“Don’t start with me,” says Ray, any trace of joviality gone from his voice.

Walt rolls his eyes first and then starts to glare. It takes a second for the hurt to set in. Ray flops onto the couch, sort of next to him, but not really. He’s not completely on the other end, but he’s not within leaning distance either. So, Walt crosses his arms and mentally digs in his heels ready to launch an argument.

“Seriously, Homes. Don’t.” Ray warns Walt, “I feel like shit,”

“Have you been throwing up all day?” Walt asks anyway.

Now Ray rolls his eyes, petulantly. Quizzes have never been his favorite.

“I could keep down crackers I found in the break room.”

“You found?” Walt’s voice cracks a little, but he regains his composure and hurries to strike that comment from the record, “You’ve got to go to the doctor, Ray. This is ridiculous.”

“Maybe it’s ebola,” Ray says with a smirk, cocking his head in thought, “Or, no, the swine flu!”

Walt just leans back into the couch, tightening his folded arms. He really wants to press the subject, but he also really wants to laugh at Ray pondering what awful disease he’s contracted, with a growing smirk, no less.

“Or,” Ray draws out, “I’m getting a message from God to be a runway model,”

“Or,” Walt injects, “You’re never going to know for sure unless you go to the doctor,”

“Or,” Ray says, louder than Walt, “I could WebMd this shit and save the copay,”

“Or, you aren’t a doctor and neither is WebMd,”

“I love it when you get all feisty,” Ray grins, turning to Walt.

Walt tries, he really puts all his effort into not breaking stone serious face, but he can’t help it. When Ray grins at him, he’s not in control of his actions. So he purses his lips tight to suppress the return smile. His cheeks tinge pink with a blush as the obvious smirk gives his cheeks a full on cramp while he tries to keep his mouth pinched. Walt laughs before Ray can call him on it.

“Please, just make an appointment,” Walt asks dropping his crossed arms and giving up trying to bully through the situation with false bravado.

“Please, stop telling me to go make an appointment. I hate getting probed and pissing in cups. Pissing in cups is just step one before getting fired or going to jail to me. I break out in hives. Then, on top of it, the doctor is going to want to shove a finger up my ass. And I don’t know about you, but there are only one guy’s fingers I want up my ass,”

Walt gulps and Ray scoots in closer. Walt closes the space left.

“What if I went to med school?”

“What if you do? I didn’t say they were your fingers,” Ray retorts with a flick of his eyebrows.

“Some fucker is going to be all thumbs,” Walt throws back, good natured and even toned while he’s leaning in close to Ray.

“All thumbs,” Ray repeats, “Nice one,”

Walt shuts him up with a tentative kiss. He’s not entirely positive he heard Ray brush after his run to the bathroom.

“If you want to keep getting nice things, you’ll humor me and go to the doctor,”

Ray whines. Having tasted mint on Ray’s lips, Walt kisses Ray again, this time with no trepidation, but full want. The mere mention of fingers being inside Ray has Walt hard as a rock despite the other things they’ve been talking about.

Now Ray’s hand is cupping Walt’s cheek and Walt nipping at his boyfriend’s bottom lip. Then he’s pulling back and giving Ray his secret weapon, his best sincerest expression.

“Fuck,” Ray pouts, eliciting a victorious smile from Walt, “but you’re coming along for entertainment.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Motherfucking, cocksucking, one hundred percent, BULL FUCKING SHIT,” Ray exclaims in the exam room. “You are on some serious fucking drugs and I’d been down to get some off you, but they’ve clearly fucked you up COMPLETELY beyond repair.”

The doctor is aghast at the verbal onslaught and he looks down at the chart, up at Ray Person, down at the chart and back at the annoyed man in the exam room gown sitting on the check up bed glaring at him with complete hatred.

Walt’s mouth is open. He is completely dazed. He’d been sitting next to Ray, but he stood up and folded his arms when the doctor had stepped in. He had a shit eating I-told-you-so-bitch grin forming on his lips as he anticipated hearing the words flu or exotic seafood parasite or something that would prove he was right in forcing Ray to the doctor’s office for a check-up. Instead, he’d been completely dazed by the revelation the doctor read from the chart. He’d have passed out, but the Corps had bred that sort of pussyish response out of him.

“Say something, motherfucker?” Ray demanded, turning to Walt, flinging his arm up and pointing at the doctor.

Walt just blinks and tries to come out of his stupor, but it’s difficult.

“Pregnant?” Walt asks with disbelief and annoyance at the completely bizarre diagnosis, “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“That’s it!” Ray shouts, “That’s all you’ve got?!”

Walt puts up his hands, still at a loss.

“How!” Ray yelps, “It’s im-fucking-possible, man! You are the sorriest excuse for a doctor I’ve ever seen. Did you study in fucking Costa Rica or get your degree offline?”

“Ray,” Walt cautions, “Calm down,”

“No, I won’t calm down. This stupid fuck is telling me I’m knocked up. And for what I just paid in the waiting room to hear this bullshit, I can say any fucking thing I want.”

“Sir,” the doctor tries to interject, but Walt puts up his hand and silences him.

“Ray,” he says, trying to take control.

“Walt,” Ray shoots back, dismissive at his attempt to ratchet down the anger.

“It’s actually kind of totally possible,”

“The fuck do you mean?” Ray says, “If anyone’s fucking knocked up, it’s you not me.”

Walt just stares back at Ray and shakes his head ‘no’ with a completely adorable yet to Ray completely irritating look on his face. His look says ‘think a little harder because I hate to tell you this, but’.

“I’m the pitcher,” Ray explains, as if he’s teaching math to a first grader, “You’re the catcher. So, that means, I wouldn’t get the ball in my mitt. Get it?”

Walt takes a deep breath. “Except, that one time when we –“

Ray’s eyes go wide and his complexion goes stark white. “MOTHERFUCKER!” he yells, actually mostly at Walt rather than just in general.

Walt turns to the doctor and blurts out, “We’re usually always careful,”

“Oh fuck you, Walt. Fuck you!” Ray snaps, folding arms across his chest.

If there’s ever been a time Ray was truly pissed beyond belief, it was right at that moment.

“Always, because-“ Walt continued fumbling trying to for some reason apologize to the medical doctor, like a kid busted for cheating on a test who should have known better in the first place.

“Because Walt never got laid ever and I got tons of ass before I settled down with his cornfed ass,” Ray finishes, “BUT OH, POLLY PERFECT PENIS COULDN’T POSSIBLY HAVE A DISEASE EVER SO WHY SHOULD HE WEAR A CONDOM!”

“It was ONE. FUCKING. TIME!” Walt shouted at Ray, “How was I supposed to know!”

Ray just glared with his eyes narrowed and shook his head at Walt.

“Fuck,” Walt whimpered, putting both hands to either side of his head.

The doctor swallowed and quietly shut the cover on the chart.

“I should have known when you gave me that line about gravity keeping it from happening,” Ray muttered, looking down at his knees. “I invented that line,”

“Congratulations, then,” The doctor said taking a step backward toward the exam room door.

“Fuck off,” both Walt and Ray said in tandem.


	4. Chapter 4

The ride home had been virtually silent. Ray offered Walt the keys to drive, but Walt didn’t take the bait. Ray would most likely been a back seat driver and after the outbursts in the doctor’s office, Walt had had enough. He let Ray drive and blast the music. He let him hyperactively change the channel on the radio during the twenty minute drive through stop and go traffic. Even though it unnerved Walt to have the song become rap become talk become some awful college radio avant-garde mess just when he got used to whatever it was Ray had on in the first place. So it didn’t hurt his feelings too much more when they pulled in to the apartment parking lot and Ray killed the engine, got out of the car without so much as a word and double-timed to the apartment. Walt caught up just as Ray slammed the bedroom door.

 

“Jesus Christ,” Walt swears under his breath, walking to the bedroom, testing the handle to make sure he heard the lock falling into place.

 

“Are you fucking serious with this shit, Ray? You’re going to make me pick the lock!”

 

“Serious as an unwanted pregnancy,” Ray shouts back through the door.

 

Walt stiffens and clenches his fist. It’s not that he doesn’t agree with Ray’s observation – it’s not like they planned this, but he does find fault with the slight venom to Ray’s tone. It’s not like Walt gave him a fucking STD. Walt didn’t even complain when Ray actually did give him the clap. It was just one of those things, those awful accidents that tend to happen when you finally get to fuck the love of your life after he’s just gotten back from a military paid trip to Thailand.

 

“If you make me come in there you are not going to like me when I get on the other side of this door, Ray,” Walt warns.

 

“Oh no Walt, please don’t hulk out on me!” Ray jeers.

 

Walt plants his foot level with the door, mentally kisses the security deposit goodbye and kicks the door so hard the bottom hinge completely gives way and takes a chunk of the jamb out with it.

 

Ray jumps back. He’s sitting at the head of their mattress, propped against the headboard. Walt glares and grinds his jaw. He hates when Ray doesn’t take his shoes off before tumbling onto the mattress. He’s ripped him a new asshole over it too many times that he just growls through gritted teeth.

 

“Stand down,” Ray says quickly putting out both hands, figuratively to keep Walt at bay.

  
Walt points at him. “Fucking shoes on the fucking bedspread - what the fuck!”

 

“You just kicked our goddamn door in!” Ray shouts, “Peace out security deposit! And you’re fucking going menstrual over the bedspread!”

 

“You’re one to talk about going menstrual,” Walt points out, “And I am the Alpha Male who bothers to wash the sheets in this relationship, so take off your fucking shoes if you’re going to act like a bitch and hide in the bedroom with the door locked!”

 

“Oh hell no!” Ray balks, yet while toeing at the heel of one shoe with the other foot. “You did NOT just call me the bitch,”

 

“What is it you always say? Don’t talk no shit there won’t be no shit. Well, don’t act like a bitch and I won’t call you a bitch,”

 

“Fuck you, Homes. I’m pregnant. Show some respect.”

 

Ray’s pair of shoes tumble off the foot of the bed to the floor and Walt, exhales with relief. Ray just gives Walt his most impatient look, mentally willing the other man to leave the bedroom. Walt doesn’t leave. Instead, Walt swallows and clears his throat before starting to speak, this time in a controlled voice – a normal voice.

 

“I know you’re not happy about it, either. I’m sorry. You know it should be me. I know it should be me. So tell me what I have to do to fix this?”

 

Ray rolls his eyes and groans inwardly at the sudden bipolar turn of events. First Walt kicks in the door in response to Ray’s attitude and now he’s trying to be sweet and perfect asking what he can do to help.

 

“Can I just have five fucking minutes by myself? Is that too fucking much to ask?” Ray complains, ignoring the question entirely.

 

Walt rolls his eyes letting his head tilt in time with his eyes. “You’re storming out of the car, slamming doors, not saying shit to me and locking yourself in the bedroom. I thought you were fucking pissed off at me.”

 

Ray makes a disgusted noise and shakes his head. “Fuck you, okay. Just _fuck you_ ,”

 

And that turns Walt’s stomach sour in an instant. If Ray wasn’t pissed off at him before, now he’s decided to be pissed off that Walt thought he was pissed off.

 

“Great, so _now_ what should I do since I have in fact pissed you off?” Walt asks, palms up, exasperated.

 

“I don’t know Hulk. You could unfuck yourself and piss off, but that seems like it’s asking too much. Who gives a fuck that I need time alone to figure out what I’m going to do about this,” Ray replies without hesitation, exasperated just as much as Walt if not slightly more.

 

Walt doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t move either. His expression it blank as far as Ray can tell, which is just never good. He can usually read Walt’s expression as well as Brad could read an Encyclopedia during a combat shit.

 

“Do about this,” Walt repeats flatly, staring at Ray his jaw tightening.

 

Walt nods slightly and begins to turn to leave. It makes Ray’s unpredictable stomach flop and clench with anxiety. The thought clicks as he replays over in his head what he just said to Walt.

 

“Wait, I meant - fuck.” Ray relents, knowing he’s pushed a button and a bad one at that.

 

“Walt, hold up.” Ray says quickly struggling off the bed after the blonde with his shoulders slumped.

 

Walt’s back is turned to Ray as he quite honestly mopes toward the doorway. He came in with all the testosterone he could muster, but it’s gone – surrendered at the throne of Ray Person.

 

“Not like that. I didn’t mean - .” Ray is full of all sorts of fragment sentences as he hurries to Walt’s side. “I wouldn’t,”

 

Walt ignores him and Ray has to side step and cut him off before he can make it past the wreck of what used to be the door.

 

“Hey,” Ray says quietly, in front of Walt, keeping him from getting past the threshold into the hall, “I meant how I’m going to take off work, where the fuck I’m going to go into hiding and, Jesus Christ, how to tell my mother. I didn’t mean get rid of it.”

 

Walt won’t make eye contact. He stares at the hallway floor. It’s not that he doesn’t believe Ray and that he isn’t relieved to hear him explain his words. It’s just hard to form a smile when for a second he could honestly see Ray pulling rank on him, making a decision and defusing the situation with finality. Plus after the days of vomiting, the doctor visit, kicking the door and all the other shit in between and spilling over into – he’s just had too much information. He can’t just drum up a smile immediately, especially during this spat where they both have the universe’s permission to be divas.

 

“It should be you. I’m kind of pissed it isn’t.” Ray chuckles and lifts up his shirt, “This beautiful six pack may never be the same again.”

 

Walt brings his attention back, somewhat and his eyes lower from Ray’s face – his eyes and wide smile – down to his abs, tight and cut sharply thanks to obsession with PT.

 

“Sorry,” Walt offers, dumbly at best and it’s really the best he can do under the circumstances.

 

“Remember when we got back from the VA and the penicillin shot really hurt your ass and you just needed to be alone.”

 

“Yeah, but I _didn’t_ give you the clap. You’re acting like I did that or worse,”

 

“Infant parasite – much worse, I promise you.”

 

Walt shoots a skeptical look at the merit of Ray’s argument.

 

“You’re swimmers infiltrated my womb, man. They made a cell-splitting DNA replicating nightmare in there that makes me vomit. Apparently, it’s also going to get me fat and make me a moody, swoll-footed, food-craving maniac. The clap was a fucking cakewalk and you know it.”

 

And the smile starts to form on Walt’s lips just like that.

 

That’s the reason they can even stand to share an apartment with each other much less share their lives. Sure, Ray is uncouth and messy. He has terrible table manners and curses way too much. The country music Brad kept out of the Humvee is now everywhere and Walt’s had to just get used to it. He’s a fan of country now, and while he’s not a fan of shoes on the bedspread and sheets, not necessarily thrilled about clothes, dishes, scraps of paper not adhering to a place for everything and everything in its place, and is beyond embarrassed when Ray won’t close his mouth to eat – ever; he’s a big fan of Ray.

 

So when they fight and Ray argues dirty and then does a 180 to humor to draw attention away from the bullshit, Walt just has to smile and remember the whole fight was a roundabout way to fall back in love with their differences.

 

“Did you call out of work?” Walt asks, playing at coy, but taking a step backward toward their bed.

 

Ray smiles ear to ear. “I work at a motherfucking 24 Hour Fitness. I run that shit. Of course I took the day off,”

 

“I figured you’d milk ‘a stomach virus’ for all it’s worth.” Walt retorts making air quotes taking another step backward.

 

Ray took a step closer to Walt and Walt took another step back, closing the space to the foot of the bed.

 

“You slut,” Ray says with a wink and look of recognition, “Corporal Hasser, are you trying to seduce me?”

  
“Roger that.” Walt smirks, “I want to celebrate,”

 

“Celebrate the fall of my glorious abs?”

 

“There’s that. And I just keep thinking I can’t exactly get you more pregnant than you already are,”

 

Ray shakes his head and spits out a laugh. Walt shrugs with a shy grin and takes another step back and the back of his knees connect with the edge of the mattress.

 

“It will be a cold day in hell before I let you put it in me again. Look what happened last time,” Ray grumbles, climbing onto Walt’s lap and pushing him backward to the mattress.


	5. Chapter 5

Walt is grateful for the end to morning sickness. Ray is also quite relieved to not be at the mercy of his gut deciding to evacuate its contents at random. For about a month they’ve been trying to figure out just how to tell their friends. Ray’s perfect 6-pack is nowhere near even being in danger of destruction, but he swears he can tell a difference and that he can pinch rolls of skin that were not there before. Walt thinks he looks as fit as ever.  
   
The mood swings are starting though. The exaggerating has always been there and that’s long stopped phasing Walt except in the case of providing him with a reason to laugh. The discomfort of having Ray scrambling around the apartment on a cleaning kick while Walt’s splayed out on the couch watching TV only to have him early fall to pieces over one of those overdramatic Animal Adoption commercials with the tear jerking Sarah McLachlan background music – that’s new. It’s hard to know when to try giving him a hug and when doing so will just get him shoved away and ridiculed.  
   
“WHERE THE FUCK IS IT!”  
   
And it’s one of those cleaning binges that lead to the onslaught of screaming in the otherwise quiet apartment. Walt winces, takes a deep breath, shuts his eyes, and releases it with a count to ten. He gets to 4 when there’s another shriek from Ray and this time it is obvious that Ray is out for blood.  
   
“Where’s what?” Walt calls out, cringing as he stands up.  
   
He’d been sitting at the kitchen table, trying his best to study for another stupid competency so that maybe he could get a promotion. However, even if he did score high on his exam for the competency it was another matter entirely if his COs would put the paperwork through to make a pay grade jump happen.  
   
“You fucking know what,” Ray seethes stomping from the bedroom through the hall just as Walt makes it from the dining room side of the big front room to the TV and furniture side.  
   
Walt puts his hands up and remains doe eyed.  
   
“I swear I have no fucking idea.”  
   
“You piece of fucking rotten dicksucking shit.” Ray swore, “You really trust me that little. I cannot fucking believe it. THAT HURTS!”  
   
Walt swallowed and raised an eyebrow. He opened his mouth to make a guess and stopped, shutting it tight.  
   
Ray scowled and then huffed. “I looked in my stash box.”  
   
Walt bit his bottom lip.  
   
“Mhm,” Ray affirmed nodding his head, “Guilty as a motherfucker,”  
   
“Rayray,” Walt said quickly, but Ray put his finger out and poked Walt in the chest, warning him.  
   
Walt frowned with a pathetic pout. He was after all getting pretty good at playing on Ray’s wild emotions. If all else failed he generally would resort to puppy eyes, an overdone sad face, or dropping to his knees with his bottom lip out if the offense wasn’t too serious. Otherwise that strategy usually ended badly in gagging, tea bagging or a shot in the eye.  
   
“Don’t Rayray me, fucko. You sold my whole entire stash. You didn’t trust me to stay out of it. What the fuck is that?”  
   
“It’s not that I didn’t trust you,” Walt whined.  
   
Ray glared. Walt let out a sigh and returned to his normal voice. “I just wanted shit to be easier on you. I figured if the stash box was empty then you wouldn’t be so bummed out. Besides, the quarter sack was going to be stale by the time you had the baby.”  
   
“You flushed my quarter sack!” Ray yelped and his brow furrowed deeply.  
   
Ray pushed past Walt and dropped onto the couch, sinking back deep in the beige leather. He put his face in his hands and his elbows on his knees. Walt turned around and followed Ray, lowering down to his knees in front of the other man. Ray’s eyes were filling up. Walt reached out for his hands, but Ray twisted away with a petulant groan. Walt put his hands on the sides of Ray’s knees instead.  
   
“Babe,” he said softly, “I’m sorry. I was doing it for you, for us. I’m not going to be digging in either. Anything you don’t get to do, I don’t get to do. Remember? I promised you that.”  
   
Ray just made a sour expression. “My roofies. My uppers. My downers. My weed.”  
   
Walt let go of Ray’s left knee and reached behind him. Ray covered his eyes with his hands.  
   
“You kind of suck, Ray. You know that.” Walt said gently.  
   
“You suck!” Ray shot back, at the brink of tears and ready to hide them of course.  
   
“I was going to wait to surprise you with this. Nope. Ray’s always gotta connive his surprises early.”  
   
“With what?”  
   
Ray spread his index and middle fingers on both hands, peaking out. His mood swings just enhanced his ability to be a total child.  
   
“This,” Walt had his wallet open and was digging through it to finally produce a white slip of paper which he held up for Ray.   
  
“A deposit slip? You put my drugs in a safe deposit box?” Ray asked.  
   
Walt rolled his eyes and snickered.  
   
“No, fucktard.”  
   
Ray shot Walt a look, on edge and warning. He had to know that Walt didn’t mean to insult him, but the hormones had a way with distorting Ray’s perspective. Walt gave pause and continued with what he had to say, hoping it would take Ray’s histrionics down a notch.  
“I, um, I called up Poke and then Q-tip and Chaffin. I kind of just called everyone I know that would be interested in your, well our, stuff. I put the money in an account. It was too much to just walk around with or put in a mattress. So when you have our little monster you can cash it out and stock up or you know, whatever?”   
   
Ray whimpered and his mouth curled into a smile, a frown, a mixture and then pair of quivering lips. Walt jumped back when Ray lunged forward wrapping his arms around Walt’s neck.  
   
“Oh fuck,” Walt breathed, relieved it wasn’t a violent attack.  
   
“You sold drugs,” Ray wept, “For us. My sweet innocent cornfed inbred flannel-wearing goat-roping tobacco-growing beast actually hit the streets and hustled to make a buck for his boo and kid,”  
   
“Fuck Ray. You make it sound like I came down off my pedestal. I just sold some pills and weed to our friends. It’s not a big deal. I’m not like Mary Louise Parker or anything,”  
   
“You’re fucking better,” Ray sighed, “She’s an uptight bitch, and a skank,”  
   
“Thanks?” Walt asked with semi-confidence he’d just been complimented in a round about fashion.  
   
“I love you. I really do,” Ray announced, staring into Walt’s eyes, his lip starting to quiver again.  
   
“Okay, fuck. Just because we’re starting a family and we fuck each other doesn’t mean we have to act like fags.”  
   
Ray just laughed against Walt’s neck and giving it a quick kiss before leaning back from him. He looked at Walt with a wry grin playing at his face. Walt blushed a little bit and shied away, dropping his glance and tentatively stealing a look back at Ray.  
   
“You make me act like a fruit. You know it’s all your fault, right. When you aren’t involved, I’m brutal and manly.”  
  
“Yeah I know. Your wrist never bent any way other than straight until you met me,” Walt supplied.   
  
“And now it’s limp as Rudy’s cock at a titty bar.”  
   
“I find it so amusing that you still make gay jokes at our straight friend’s expense, yet your pregnant with your boyfriend’s love child. Do you find that at all odd?”  
   
“You mean do I find it QUEER?” Ray cocks his head to the side smartly.  
   
Walt let his head roll back and breathes. Ray has to go for the cheap puns, every time. It’s maybe a second or two before he feels a pair of lips pecking at his adam’s apple, dotting a kiss or two, before another just a bit lower.  
   
“Lay back, Walt. I’ll show you what I find queer.”  
   
“Ray, I have to study.”  
   
“Fuck studying. You can deal drugs if we need diapers.”


End file.
